What The Goddess Left Behind
by GillstheWitch
Summary: "Daegal-" "Don't call me that!" the boy shouted with pain, devastation and fury ripping through his voice like echoes. He twitched, and began to strike his head against the wall until blood spurted from his forehead. "My name. . .is. . .Ganondorf."


Chapter I

"Play the whistle," Daegal asked quietly. The soft pleading in his voice, the desperation for the shrill music caused a smile to crash upon Link's face.

He retrieved the short tin whistle from a pocket in his tunic. The edges of the holes were already worn from his fingertips, since he played it so often. They were perfectly spaced; made especially for his hands. Daegal had crafted it carefully and precisely under the instruction of his father, Nichol.

Link brought the frail instrument up to his lips, which parted slightly, and he felt Daegal sit up a little straighter and draw in his breath with excitement.

Except for the shrill but hollow music, the forest was quiet. Every so often, there would be a bird or some other animal scurrying about, creating a susurrus of crackling amongst the tall grasses. The wind would make the leaves on the trees sway and dance to Link's music.

Daegal closed his eyes and a smile broke across his tan face. His tawny red hair flitted about in the breeze, tickling his nose and cheeks, as he sat with his face pointed up towards the sky. Link eyed him carefully as to not disturb his peaceful state, and the music kept going. Some melodies were long, droning on for several seconds, and some were short, resembling the sound of a bird chirping. No matter what Link played, he could never get a note wrong. There was magic in his fingers, Daegal said to himself later, a magic that spread until it covered every inch of his body. He was sure of it.

Link ended his song on a low note and let the sound fade away slowly. Carefully, he tucked the whistle back into his pocket and waited for Daegal to return to earth.

Daegal's eyelids opened, revealing eyes that were brown, but as golden as the sun if you looked at them the right way. Somehow, Link was always able to find the correct angle. They shone as if sprinkled with gold dust. Link's own were a musty gray, and looked as if it were always about to rain inside them.

The forest was quiet again. Neither boy spoke, mostly because Daegal didn't enjoy it very much. What was the use in words when silence could be so much more meaningful?

Link shattered the silence first. "I do okay?"

"Yes," replied Daegal, his voice slightly monotone, but the vigorous nodding of his head showed his enthusiasm. His red hair was tossed from side to side, and his gold ear studs clinked.

"I'm glad," said Link, using few words as to not make Daegal feel uncomfortable.

Link wished Daegal would meet his gaze, but his eyes were cast downwards, like they always were. Daegal had a lot of quirks Link sometimes wished he could tweak; he was by no means perfect. Always looking away as if embarrassed, never speaking more than a few words at a time, and always having a sense of longing to be somewhere else. Daegal was never always "there," and there was a valid reason for that, but Link had gotten used to it by now. There were just some times when he ached to have a serious conversation with his closest friend without being the one doing all the talking. Daegal wouldn't start a conversation with someone willingly, it frightened him. Though this was all what made Daegal himself, and Link loved it always.

Daegal's downcast eyes were fixed upon a small colorful bug crawling across a thick blade of grass. His fiery red lion's mane fell onto his face, but he didn't brush it away. Sometimes when that happened, he would shake it, and the strands of matted hair would fan in all directions, giving him a crazed but majestic look. The beetle lifted its wings and buzzed away, and Daegal held it in his gaze until it disappeared into the summer air. Link reached over and plucked the blade of grass, folded it in two between his thumbs, which he pressed tightly together at the carpals, and blew into the grass, creating an obnoxious squealing buzz, like a noisemaker at a party. Quick, hysterical bouts of laughter came from his friend, who grabbed handfuls of grass from the forest floor. He tried to copy Link, but his hands were too large and clumsy to hold a single piece of grass between them. Link, whose own hands were delicate, reached over to adjust Daegal's grip on the blade. Daegal blew, sounding in a weak, shrill noise. He smiled anyway.

"You can whistle, too," remarked Link. Though he didn't show it, Link knew that Daegal was filled with a large happiness. It saddened him to interrupt it. "What do you say we head back?" he asked.

Daegal drooped his head, his gold eyes darkening with disappointment. "Athol will worry," he agreed, standing up. He held out a hand for Link to take, and he did, hoisting himself up. Link was taller than Daegal, thinner and more muscular. Though Daegal was smaller, he seemed to take up more space, but that was probably because of his hair. He didn't fasten his tunic very tightly, so the fabric was always billowing around him, rippling in the wind.

Athol, with all her fourteen years, stood perhaps prouder than either of the two boys who were retreating from the woods. She had the same wildly colored hair as her brother, though it was brushed and tamed and twisted into two fiery braids.

She stood by the fencepost that marked the entrance to the forest (it was neither a warning nor a welcome, just an appreciated reminder that the woods was very much unlike their village of Hillwind), her hands were on her hips and her sharp chin protruded as she searched with keen eyes for Link and her brother.

At last, she spotted two figures, one walking with sure strides and the other bounding towards her like an animal. He nearly tripped over various objects; roots, weeds, rocks, his own feet.

"Daegal!" she called, before he got too close. Daegal skidded to a stop in front of her, and giggled at his clumsy landing. Link followed close behind him.

"Where were you?" Athol asked patronizingly, but with a tone of worry to her voice.

"Woods!" Daegal answered simply, basking on the ground at his sister's feet.

"I know, but you can't disappear like that. Father's been looking everywhere for you."

Daegal refused to meet her glance, though he sat up a little bit more, and his face drooped in shame.

"What do you say?" pressed Athol.

"Sorry," whispered Daegal.

"Actually," announced Link, stepping in and placing a reassuring hand on Daegal's broad shoulder. "I took him to the woods. I thought he'd like the quiet."

Athol's head snapped in Link's direction, but her face was softer now. "Daegal's a handful. You shouldn't take the blame, it's all right. I can get him home quickly."

"I can probably get him home quicker," Link retorted.

"It's okay, Link," said Athol, frantically trying to repress Link's annoyance. "As far as anyone knows, you had nothing to do with it."

"I'm not a handful," said Daegal suddenly, beginning to register their conversation.

The two standing children ignored him. "You don't have to blame anyone, definitely not Daegal," Link was saying. He tried desperately to overshadow Athol's prideful stance, but it wasn't really working. She stared him down, trying to look kind and just seeming overall revering to Link's prominently brave facial features and rainy eyes. He needed to shake her away.

"Stand up," he said to Daegal, without too much force in his tone. His friend pulled himself up and shielded his face from Athol's gaze.

"I'm not a handful," he whispered to Link.

"You're not," Link replied.

The heart of Hillwind stood sleepily down a long winding path that was shrouded mostly by trees. The boys left Athol standing by the fencepost, with her arms crossed resentfully to her chest. Overhead, the dusky sky was being set ablaze with a fiery sunset. The last of the songbirds retreated to their nests, whistling as they went. Daegal whistled back at them.

Hillwind was starting to smell like autumn. The cairn-like houses would soon begin to glow like stone lanterns, with warmth and light filtering into the chilly air. Link pressed his own shoulder closer to Daegal's after shivering at the thought of the cold months ahead.

A few slow strides later, Link could hear Athol rush after them. He gently urged Daegal to walk faster, but she caught up with them quickly.

"It's cold," she huffed, rubbing her upper arms with her thin fingers.

"Not very," replied Link. He pressed on, not looking back at her.

"Well, it'll snow soon," Athol continued. "It'll get colder."

The trees were thinning out, giving way to a hilltop view of their cozy town. Lights were already starting to shine in the windows.

"Almost there," Link said to Daegal. His friend rushed ahead of them, eager to return home, leaving Link and Athol to walk awkwardly side-by-side.

"Of course, I'm not mad at him," Athol promised softly. "And I trust you to look after him. I just hate seeing him stray. Even the safest of places can be dangerous to him."

"I know," replied Link. "I was keeping an eye on him."

"I know."

The sandy pathway soon gave way to the soft grass of Hillwind, tickling their bare feet. The smell of ovens filled with food welcomed them. Link and Athol walked in synchrony to the crickets that sang and peeped in the grass, finally catching up to Daegal.

The buildings in Hillwind-houses, stores and libraries-were all strung together in a rocky circle, resembling a sort of Stonehenge. The doorways all faced to the center of the circle. The first thing anyone saw when they stepped out of their house in the morning was the smiling face of a neighbor or a laughing child.

The sky was turning a dusty pink as Link and Daegal were reunited.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Link said softly, tugging on a wisp of Daegal's hair. He hugged Link in reply; it was more assertive than tender, but nice all the same. Athol scoffed as she led Daegal away to their waiting father.

Link watched them leave, trying to shoot a resentful look at Athol and a kind one at Daegal at the same time.

His own residence, which he shared with the quiet, unattentive Jørn, was located on the opposite end of the village. It was the smallest house, built originally for only one person. There were no lights on, which could've meant Jørn was sleeping or collecting something to eat, and Link desperately hoped it was the latter. He was starving.

As Link waited for the food to be brought home, he set the table, two small spots. Two chipped plates crafted from fine china from one of the Eldin Provinces, probably Kakariko. Two wooden cups filled with the second-purest water in all of Hyrule. Four utensils, made from the glassy rocks in the Goron mines, though they were less than the perfect ones that were sold to the royal families of Castle Town.

The house was dimly lit, since the lanterns in Jørn's study corner had all been extinguished. Papers, dried pens, whittling tools, and other odd-shaped bibelots were stashed on top of his desk and spilling onto the seat of his chair. The only lights came from the hanging lamp above the dining table and the warm glow of the porch light that seeped in from the front window. The space was small and narrow, with beds on the second floor, which could be reached by a thin staircase that wound its way up the wall.

Link crossed the room to light a fire in the tiny hearth, hoping that Jørn would be home soon. There were a great many things that could be keeping him, the most probable of which would be falling into the lake. He wondered if perhaps he should go out and look for him, and was going to, when he heard a loud banging on the door. Link's spirits lifted, but then realized that Jørn wouldn't have knocked.

He advanced curiously to the door and opened it, not knowing what to expect.

Athol stood there, arms crossed, looking incredibly mad at him.

"I'm not mad!" she exclaimed when Link tried to flee from the doorway and seek refuge in a further part of the room. "I just wanted to stop by."

"Why?" Link asked suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes and picked up a whittling tool that he had accidentally knocked off a table in his attempted escape. He set it back on the table with force and didn't look back to see Athol or welcome her inside. She stepped into the room anyway.

"You seem to have a lot of time on your hands."

"I work," replied Link. "You know that. I can't take you on a date."

Athol flushed. "That is not what I-"

"Yeah, come on, Athol, it is."

"And what's so wrong with that?"

Link turned on his heels, grasped her upper arms, and led her backwards towards the door, back into the cool night air from whence she came. "I don't like you."

"Well, I don't see how you could know that; you barely talk to me." She dug her feet into the floor.

"You just won't take no for an answer, will you?"

Athol tried to squirm from his grip. Rage filled her eyes.

Only it wasn't rage, Link saw when he looked closely. It was admiration, well-masked. When he noticed the brimming tears, he loosened his dominant grip on her arms in spite of himself, in a need to suppress them. Link wanted to apologize, but the silence was so fragile it would shatter if he spoke.

He didn't know what to do; give her a hug, or a stroke of the hair, or a very half-hearted kiss on the forehead, just so she would get the hell out of his house.

When the first tear fell, her eyes were still locked with his, gold on silver. Link lifted a gentle finger and swept it away, the salty liquid mixing with the dust on his finger. More tears came after, and Link kissed them before they could reach Athol's chin, all the while abusing himself for doing it. The girl underneath his lips was growing more tortured by the second.

"Forget it," she cried, throwing his hands off of her. "Leave me alone."

She turned abruptly, almost bumping into the door that was opening with Jørn behind it, and ran out into the night.

For good measure, Link threw his weight against the door once a confused Jørn found his way inside.

The guilty pounding of his heart compelled him to go after her and apologize, but she would probably injure him this time, and chasing a fuming girl around Hillwind was the last thing he wanted to do when his housemate had just brought to the table a fresh Tetran trout.

"Get used to it," was Jørn's only sad response.

"And where were you?" Link asked exasperatedly. He jumped to his feet and set out a pan for the trout, wanting to speed up the cooking of dinner so he could eat and go to sleep.

"Visiting Miri, just for a bit."

"So you do admit she's your daughter?" Link asked with a cruel grin.

"I can't admit what I don't know," Jørn replied, looking rather mortified. He focused on the trimming of the fish, peeling the skin and slicing the bone away.

"Come on, Jørn. It's not like anyone else would bed Liliah."

Jørn peered up from his work to find Link leaning on the table, arms crossed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, she hasn't exactly got much going for her-"

"Then you obviously haven't looked at her the right way," Jørn retorted, then realized what he had said might've been mistaken for a confession. "I've met lots of exotic girls. Why would I bed Liliah?"

"Ever meet any exotic guys?"

Jørn scoffed and returned to the dinner preparations. He gathered up the pieces of skin, bone, and extras and placed them in a bucket to become compost. "Get me the butter," he said to Link.

"If you're not Miri's father, why do you visit her all the time?" he asked, handing the glass butter dish (made in Kakariko) over to Jørn. He basted the fish with it and put the whole thing into the pan that Link had retrieved, then reached up to the ceiling where laden bouquets of herbs hung. He grabbed a small handful of rosemary, crushed it in his palms, and sprinkled it over the trout.

"Put it in for me," he instructed.

"Why do you do it?" Link asked, taking the pan but not budging.

Since Link had turned sixteen, Jørn no longer felt like he was the adult in the house. Six years wasn't so large of an age difference, making Link seem a lot older and wiser than he really was.

"She's dark, like you. She looks like she came directly from Alfos."

Jørn tried to ignore his tar-colored hair and empty brown eyes. "Liliah's family is Sarian," he said.

"And they're blond," added Link with an excited smile. "I think you're the culprit. Only an Alf could have done this." He slid the pan onto the stove above the fire he had previously made.

Within minutes, the entire house was filled with a warm sizzling and a fragrant buttery smell. As the fish fried on the pan, Link sat down across from Jørn.

"So, tell me about those exotic girls," he prompted.

Jørn smiled knowingly and shook his head. "Not tonight," he laughed. "But I can tell you about the Gorons."

"What else is there to know about them besides the fact that they're voracious piles of rock?"

"Not much," admitted Jørn. "They are voracious and they are literally piles of rock. But that's really all anyone else bothers to learn about them. They take on a human-sort-of-shape, with rocky shells on their back and volcanic pipes on the top of their head. When they get particularly angry, steam billows out of the pipes and they look like they're about to erupt. They have ancient carvings all over their coarse skin, and their eyes in contrast are like gemstones."

"They can turn into boulders, can't they?" Link asked curiously, suddenly getting up from his seat to remove the crackling fish from the stove.

"Not exactly," said Jørn as Link placed the pan on the table. "They compact themselves up into a ball of stone, then tumble down the Eldin Volcano making a ferocious noise. It's how they get rid of enemies, they just trample them."

Link served Jørn some trout from their own Tetran Lake, coated generously with crispy herbs and melted butter. "Have you had any run-ins with them before?"

"Are you kidding? I've wrestled with one."

Link incredulously eyed Jørn's thin arms and uneven stature.

"I was wearing magic armor," he elaborated. "To make it more of a contest."

"So I'm assuming you won?" Link asked expectantly.

Jørn smiled softly. "You should see the Gorons someday," he said. "You could probably take them on your own, you wouldn't need magic armor."

"But did you win?"

"I got away with my life, anyway," Jørn replied. "And that fork you're eating with. And. . ." He left his chair and went to rummage for something in his desk drawer. Link heard bits of mumblings; ". . .knew I left it in here somewhere. . ." When Jørn returned, he held a glimmering object in his hand. He placed it on the table between them. "I got this."

Link picked up the object to observe it. It was irregularly shaped, with extremely sharp edges, and black as the night, vitreous as a still lake.

"Is this from the volcano?" he asked.

Jørn nodded. "Eldin obsidian. They used to use it for money, before the royalties at Hyrule enforced the use of rupees. Now it's essentially useless. It's just a rock."

Link set it back on the table. "You should give it to Liliah," he said dryly.

"Why would she want a rock?"

"It's pretty. And in some cultures, giving someone a rock is considered a marriage proposal," Link jested. He picked up his empty plate, gathered Jørn's, and set it on the counter, saving the washing for the next day.

"Go to sleep," Jørn chided.

"See you in the morning," said Link, his cruel smile returning.

When he woke, the lazy sun was washing the walls of the bedroom. The light stung his sleepy eyes. He blinked, yawned, and ran a hand through his disheveled sandy hair, shaking out the tangles. Jørn's bed was empty, but the sheets were tousled.

Link dragged himself from the bedclothes and got dressed. He reluctantly pulled on a warmer tunic, instead of the one he was used to wearing in hot weather. The air was growing chilly in the morning, promising a long, cold winter that Link was not looking forward to. Daylight was vanishing quickly, as was time spent with Daegal in the woods on summer evenings.

Once dressed, Link headed downstairs.

"Jørn?" he called softly, ducking his head under the stairs to see if he was sitting at his desk. It was vacant, and no other answer came. "Jørn, I hope you washed your own dish-"

Link glanced over at the counter. The dishes had been done. He smiled a bit with satisfaction, then went back to his search.

"Where the hell are you?" Link mumbled to himself. He examined the dining table, and found that the Eldin obsidian was no longer there.

He felt a sensation of success.

The cold air Link felt when he opened the door almost discouraged him from venturing out, but he pressed on. The gentle wind smelled like crisp firewood and soil. The remnants of the town's breakfast filtered through everyone's windows, filling Link's nose with scents of fruit and bread. He basked in the smells and sunlight as he began the pleasant walk to Daegal's house.

Though the niceness of the morning was somewhat dampened by the approaching event of Link's apology to Athol. It nagged at his chest and made his hand burn where he had touched her face, creating a mix of anger and nausea in the pit of his stomach.

He heard happy shouts of the children, trying to hold onto the last bits of warmth and summer before it diminished completely. Saundra, the mayor's small daughter, rushed past him, almost knocking him over. Soon after, Link saw that she was being chased; the twins, Calum and Carson, two boys with shocks of blond hair, were gaining on her.

"Sorry!" Carson called as he skidded past at his brother's heels. He turned for a second, facing Link. "Jørn's at our house!"

Link smiled at Liliah's brother. "What's he doing there?" he asked, but Carson was already speeding away. A shriek came from Saundra, filled with terror and delight.

He wandered around the town, passing by each stone building. They all looked alike, except for size. Some were larger in order to accommodate large families. Daegal's was moderately sized, fitting himself, Athol, and their father.

Link knocked on the wooden door and waited a reply. It was always unpredictable who would answer the door, though it wasn't typically Daegal, who let anxiety get the best of him. Link had only two choices, and he wished with every bit of energy that it would be Nichol instead of Athol.

The girl with bushy red braids answered. She was about to greet him, when she narrowed her eyes and realized she was still angry.

"What?" she interrogated with no trace of friendliness.

"Is Daegal here?" Link asked, deflecting her pointedness.

"He's asleep."

"I'm not!" called an enthusiastic voice from inside.

Link raised his eyebrows at Athol. "Well, he appears to be very much awake."

Daegal's head appeared above Athol's shoulder, though he didn't meet Link's eyes. "I want to go," he said to Athol, almost as if asking permission.

She was defeated, but she didn't back down. "You're going into the woods again?"

"Probably," replied Link, taking Daegal's hand and leading him past Athol, who was partially blocking the doorway. "If that's all right with you."

Athol scowled at the two of them. "Have fun," she said sourly.

She shut the door, and Link and Daegal were left alone. Link realized that Daegal's easeful hand was still enclosed in his, but his friend didn't seem to notice or mind. He pulled Link along, keeping his gaze ahead and not looking back at him.

They ran across Hillwind's lush fields as Daegal sped up. The grass at their feet was still soft and green. A late summer wind blew over their faces, tossing their hair around. Daegal's red tresses danced.

At the tree-tunneled pathway, they slowed down and began to walk at a normal pace. Link's hand was growing sweaty, but Daegal didn't let go. He held fast like a child afraid of getting lost.

The leaves on the trees cast cool shadows upon their clothes, shading them from the bright morning sun.

"I like it," murmured Daegal. "When you take me."

Link's surprise caused him to pivot his head in Daegal's direction. It was not unheard of, but rare, when Daegal would start a conversation all on his own.

"We can go every day," Link offered, trying to preserve the exchange. "It'll get cold, but we can still go. You can wear a blanket and I'll bring tea and we can be warm."

Daegal's wide mouth twitched, first at the corners, then evolved into an expansive smile.

The dirt road they were walking on led them to the fencepost at the edge of Faron Woods at the top of the hill overlooking Hillwind. The houses now looked like small clusters of rock, set in a decorative circle.

"Let's. . .not bring Athol," Daegal proposed as they started into the cool shade of the woods.

"We'll leave her at home," said Link.

The boys returned to their usual spot, on top of a moss-covered boulder in the middle of a quiet clearing. The rock sat underneath warm rays of sun that stretched through the tops of the trees, welcoming them.

"She's mad at me," Daegal said when he reached the boulder. "She hates me."

"She loves you," answered Link, sitting down beside him. "That's just it. She only seems mad because she's worried, but she could never hate you. Nobody could."

Daegal's golden, downcast eyes darkened to a murky bronze as he lowered his head. "Sometimes," he began, but shook his head as if he couldn't find the right words. "I just. . .sometimes. . ."

Link wasn't sure how to comfort Daegal without frightening him. He performed his uniform act of lightly tugging on a piece of Daegal's vibrant hair. His friend looked up at him; he looked in his eyes. The action was so rare and fleeting that it caused Link to catch his breath in his throat. The gold was back.

"Just sometimes. . .I hate me."

In a slightly awkward but curious movement, Daegal's lips hovered to Link's jawline, and stayed there for a few seconds. Link felt a rush of unexpected happiness but confusion at what was happening. He soon found his hand ruffling Daegal's hair with shaking fingers. When Daegal pulled away, he maintained eye contact with Link.

Marvelling at his bravery, Link cupped the sides of Daegal's face and redirected the kiss, this time full on the mouth. He didn't pull away or make any sort of confused protest. The two of them let the sounds of the forest disappear. The colors around them became blurry but magnified. A hot pool of what felt like magma intruded Link's lower belly, which reduced his breathing to short bursts.

Each boy became lightheaded within minutes. Link's mind was in a whirl, but he believed nothing could make it more intense and happy. A smile was frozen on Daegal's face, not a full grin, but a satisfied curve, like he was applauding his own courage.


End file.
